


Going Back One Last Time

by tigereyes45



Category: Red vs. Blue
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Comfort, M/M, Nervousness, Surgery nerves, This is my last fanfic of the decade even though Ao3, says this one and the last one was posted on the first
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-27 06:54:46
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22062886
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tigereyes45/pseuds/tigereyes45
Summary: Grif had insisted that they go back. Just one more time to the gulch where it all really began. Where they met Sarge, Donut, Lopez, Tucker, Caboose, and Church. One more time and they'll never come back again. So Simmons wonder why they even bothered when they end up just sitting against the outside of the base.Bullshitting has always been their strong suit.
Relationships: Dexter Grif/Dick Simmons
Comments: 2
Kudos: 28





	Going Back One Last Time

Grif pushes his back up against the metal walls of the old base. For the first time in what felt like forever, he found himself back in the same shithole this mess started in. He’s not sure what he expected to happen. Maybe some sudden life-changing realization. An epiphany that made everything the army has ever done to him seem worth it. Yet here they were, and he still wasn’t sure.

“Feeling any different yet?” Simmons taps his shoulder with a can of beer. Grif ignores the creak of his bones as he takes it. “Found this in your old room. Not sure that it’s any good, but you never really seemed to care.”

Grif couldn’t help but smile. He used to have a whole stash that he went through right before they left. This one was the odd one out. “It’s not supposed to be good. It’s just supposed to be there.”

Simmons rolls his eyes before sitting next to him. “So you just had a random can of beer sitting in your room for what? Posterity?”

Grif chuckles as he rolls the can between his hands. “You really think anyone in the future is gonna visit this place? Nah. We’ll be its last visitors before erosion and time bury it deep in the crust of this forsaken alien planet.”

“Forsaken? And you knew what posterity means? I’m surprised Grif.” Simmons leans back and lets his head hit the base. The sound of metal on metal scratches at the back of Grif’s skull. Sometimes it was easy to forget just how much of Simmons’ body was gone, and that happened here. What else would Sarge have done if they were never told to leave?

“What can I say? I’m full of surprises still.”

Grif pushes strands of greying curly hair out of his face. He rests the can in the grass between them. There wasn’t much grass when they lived here. Not near the bases at least. It certainly wasn’t so healthy looking. Nature really was moving back in.

“If there was another one I would say cheers, but it’s not the same with only one drink.”

“I wouldn’t want to risk drinking it anyways.”

“No offense Grif but risks follow your family like the plague follows rats.”

“Hey, I wasn’t the one who insisted on following the others down the path of heroism.”

“Nah, you left.”

“You’re never gonna let me live that down, are you? I was angry.” Grif leans against him. Static shocks him as their shoulders touch. Not even their clothes could just work for them in this Hell.

“And you came back. I haven’t forgotten about any of it.” Grif almost wishes he had his helmet back on as Simmons lays his head on his shoulder. His fingers tap against it’s shattered visor. Uncovered nails poke at the broken glass. Short, choppy, and always scratching at the ticklest spots along his neck. He was sure Simmons moves the half of his head still with hair extra just to try his best to tickle him. "It's hard to forget about any of that shit."

"Yeah Temple was pretty fucked up."

"And Chorus, and that stuff with the paradoxes, not to mention the robot gods, and -"

"Yes a lot of fucked up shit happened with the reds and blues. Way to state the obvious Simmons."

"Hey I'm not the one who wanted to come back here."

Grif hangs his head. His neck feels cold from Simmons sudden lack of physical presence. It was 80 degrees farenheit in Blood Gulch right now, and here he was feeling cold cause Simmons moved. God he hates aging. As if to rub it in his face, a cool breeze blows through cooling him off even more.

“I hate this place.”

“Then let’s go home Grif.”

“I had to see it Simmons. One last time, before,” frustration builds upon the tension in his head. Every second another layer, another reason why that he doesn’t understand. He hates this place, but it was where he and Simmons had spent so much of their time early on together. It couldn’t be all bad then, could it?

“You know you don’t have to say goodbye, right? They say the surgery is pretty common. The doctor’s done it plenty of times before.”

“I know. That’s why I’m not saying goodbye.” Grif grabs Simmons’ hand tightly as if this would be the last time he would ever hold it. 

“Grif let’s go back. We can get on the ship and be back a day early. We could stop by your sister’s place.” His voice cracks. For once Grif doesn’t point it out. It was already betraying just how nervous Simmons was about it all as well. Instead, he wraps his maroon idiot up in his arms. Grif’s head falls gently against Simmons’ hair. Once again he feels warm and safe, just like he always does with him.

“Just in time for her New Year party.”

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go Simmons. It’s time to say goodbye to a decade.” Grif holds Simmons tighter. He hopes it’s strong enough to convey everything he won’t say. All his fears, his hopes, their memories together. If he’s lucky, which Grif rarely is, but maybe he might be this one time. With luck, it will be enough to stick in Simmons’ memory when he’s gone. He holds on so tightly he doesn’t even notice that the beer had been knocked over. The dry dirt slowly becomes muddy, as decades-old piss, alcohol provides nutrients for the first time in its creation.


End file.
